The Making of Legends: Bishamon's Warrior
by Amaya And Aiko no Akatsuki
Summary: In a world like this, nothing surprised me anymore. Corruption, deception, obscurity; sanity was always subjective. And death really wasn't all that bad. ["Romances are always one sided; you can only be devout."] PeinSakuSasoDei. [Under Revision—Ch 8 Revised.]
1. Arc I: Pretender :: Prologue

**Updated October 29, 2014**

**.**

…

_**Author: **__Amaya__  
><em>_**Editor: **__Aiko__  
><em>_**Rating: **__Mature (see warnings below)__  
><em>_**Characters/Pairing: **__[Sakura X Pein] [Sakura X Sasori] [Sakura X Deidara]; Akatsuki__  
><em>_**Themes: **__Romance, Drama, Action, Adventure, Angst__  
><em>_**Warnings: **__Violence/Gore, Strong Language, Sexual Content, Mature Situations_

_**About the Story & Disclaimer**_

_**This story does not completely follow the Naruto-verse timeline. This is completely fictional and takes place after the Fourth Great Shinobi War. **__**  
><strong>__**As this is my story, it will be told how I so desire; if you don't appreciate it, then leave.**__**  
><strong>__**Furthermore, I do not own Naruto.**_

…

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**Arc I: Pretender****  
><strong>**Prologue**

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_Streets dyed red with blood.__  
><em>_Cherry trees and pink roses; __  
><em>_the war had begun._

…

**.**

**Part One**

**.****  
><strong>**…**

_**So you want a story, do you?**_

…

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Wildlife hummed lowly, as if terrified of breaking the world's ephemeral slumber. Slender trees with knobbed trunks and branches obtruded the moist terra; brushwood overhead shivering with Mother Nature's placid whistle. A small, _**wild**_ brook wound through the forest's heart, dribbling with a soft murmur of welcome and hissing playfully with joy. Gnarled roots, which intimately intertwined with one another, basked in the dapples of sunlight streaming through the verdant canopy.

A grandiose hawk with ample wings tipped in scintillating gold flew overhead, searching the patches of luxuriant earth for her next, unsuspecting victim. A slender, russet doe abruptly broke the supernatural silence of the morning, darting between the sylphlike trees with a pulsating heart. Following the earthy cologne of moist grass and wet pine, she settled upon a small, open area to go on and graze. Rainwater dripped from the crisp green leaves, splattering against the dirt like a drum. The air swarmed with a natural perfume of its indigenous wild flowers, accompanied by only the slightest hint of peppermint. A moth, with wide wings softer than new-bloomed lavender, landed upon a proud Katsura tree just beyond the sand-beds. Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Sakura closed her eyes and murmured something quietly against her lips, _"Who have I become?"_

She had been solivagant for quite some time now, just there with nothing but herself and the wind as company; scouting the area for what she knew would inevitably become a troublesome affair. Sakura sighed with low adjective as she gimped along, her head tilted downwards and her posture slackened; though she appreciated the task commissioned, she couldn't help but wonder why she was given the grunt work today. Security detail? That was for the children—did her master really assume she was that down in arms? _Though, she would never say that aloud. _But then suddenly, she stopped. Eyes like aged bamboo inspected the all-embracing vicinity through the slits of her sallow mask; within moments, she wielded a mighty bow and had it prepared with an arrow topped with obsidian. Slowly, she drew against the bow. The world around her suddenly seemed surreal with how everything slowed and how her heartbeat accompanied the effervescent purrs of the natural world, and how her arousal unexpectedly sparked.

_I can feel you_—the wind shifted just slightly against her elbows, altered by some nonexistent force she couldn't see at that exact moment; but she knew it was a large energy. _I can smell you_—it was just barely discernible, that musky man-made scent, but it was there. It stood out against the floral aromas and the minty, petrichor perfumes Mother Nature breathed. _I can hear you_—footsteps; she could hear footsteps as they mutely pressed through the moist ground, and she could feel the slight vibration that came with the compression of the sifting dirt. Sighing, Sakura closed her eyes and murmured to herself, "Can't anyone ever just leave us alone...?"

**.**

…

_**I think I've got something for you.**_

…

**.**

It had taken quite a while before Sakura finally spotted the ones who trespassed onto her hallowed territory. There weren't many of them—just a handful of shinobi and a kunoichi or two, all cloaked in boring schemes of gray and white. They weren't recognizable, moreover making the scenario ever so frustrating. Her heart drummed heavily within her breast, beating quicker than a dear hummingbird's as a potent concoction of fear and adrenaline seeped throughout Sakura's veins. And then there was laughter; she could hear their damned _**egotistical**_ laughter echoing about the glade.

_What right did they have to laugh?_

_Danger_, her mind screamed, _danger!_ Someone was there in _her _territory, treading grossly over _her _grass; instilling fear upon _her _animals. Someone was threatening her _**security**_, threatening her land. She couldn't allow that, could she? They had no right.

_Closer, they're coming closer._

One of her eyes closed, her pupil dilated, focusing like the lens of a camera; and her lithe tongue licked those plump pink lips of hers as she pulled back the string of her bow. The serrated arrowhead glimmered, sparkling happily with imagined bloodshed as the moments gradually passed in virtuous stillness, before finally leaving the security of Sakura's fingertips.

_No more, not another step!_

**.**

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_**Romance, horror, biography—this story can be anything and everything you want it to be.**_

…

**.**

The arrow sliced through the thickened air with a whistle made ironic for a lullaby. Flesh tore, blood spilled end over end in ribbons of vermilion and stained the lush green beneath his feet; her target's heart stopped. Sakura's pale, feminine hands reached behind her petite body and wrapped around another arrow; cold, black claws like that of a falcon brushed against her fingertips, venomously kissing her peachy skin with threats of death, and her flesh rose pleasurably with that decadent sort of excitement.

Terrified, her marks' hearts drummed—music to her ears. Like rats, they cowered.

One of the kunoichi was quick to move offensively, Sakura noticed, watching as the older woman prepared the seals for an unknown jutsu. She had to go first. Sakura's fingers spread and the arrow sliced the air with another deadly melody of whistles and skin-chilling crackles. A gurgled scream, a shuddering breath—death had taken the woman far beyond their pitiful world. The rain; it needed to come again, needed to purify—get rid of the darkness that violated the plushy grounds. _Please give me strength,_ Sakura thought as she unhurriedly slunk out from the now-still dusk. She revealed herself to them, those pitiful fools that dared violate her safety, her reality. Yet they stood, bodies erect, trembling; eyes disbelieving. She stood like some heaven-sent pillar with arrow pulled taunt between her fingers almost precariously; threatening them of her position there. She was the _**huntress**_. Her hooded cloak danced around her for what seemed like miles with tattered edges dancing in the wind for a dramatically cinematic appeal. Her dress was carmine with one sleeve; falling short at the front while but growing in length at the back, and her legs wrapped in black leather. Her waist was cinched by a leather underbust corset with leather plates at her hips. Lastly, a mask of porcelain stared back at them, adorned only by amaranthine stripes and a little crescent.

She was so striking, and yet so venomous all the same.

"What land are you from?" Her voice, authoritative and smooth like velvet echoed about the bullied land as Sakura interrogated them. She could hear their hearts even from all the way across the clearing. The kunoichi's eyes narrowed at the silence of her opponents, and she tugged taunt the string of her bow as warning. "Speak now before you become acquainted with Death himself!" They ignored her demands, instead bustling dauntlessly about their comrades' deaths with bristled hairs and low snarls. She could sense their resentment in waves, as if they were bathed in some stale cologne. It made her nose sting and itch disturbingly.

"You've killed two of my comrades whilst under treaty. Do you not know what you have done?" The shortest of the men interrupted; his voice husky and drenched with potent anger. _Foolish; so, so foolish._ Men twisted in greed and envy could never understand peace. They could never understand true pain. They could never understand the meaning of _**sacrifice**_.

"I understand the terms of the international compromise, however that agreement doesn't reach to those of _Kuragari _or of Sasuke's men. Penalty is death. Your comrades' deaths are justified in token. Take this as a warning and leave!"

"And yours will do us well."

"Anger and bloodshed resolve nothing," she said resolutely. Behind her mask, Sakura's brows knitted with her concern and her lips tugged downwards into a solemn scowl. Couldn't they see that violence would be of no use here? "Why come here under the mask of Cloud? Do you really think we wouldn't know the difference in the way you walk? Even Cloud-nin hold their postures with high-regard."

"Cheeky," the man spat, face twisted with his rage and disgust. He wielded a beautiful specimen of a sword; it was simple, yet large; its blade reversed and of sparkling white iron. But he held it wrong; disrespectfully actually. A blade of such nature was made to be held with two hands; to be held gently, loosely, like the hands of a dying _**lover**_. It was to be praised and loved—honored as a gift blessed by Bishamon himself. How dare he disrespect the majesty of such an objet d'art? Had he been the true owner of this sword, he would have known. Stolen, Sakura assumed. It must've been stolen recently, for the man's stance would have been stronger and more confident than it currently was, and the blade had hardly any fresh nicks in the metal. He was a _thief_. Sakura hated nothing more than thieves. The worst sin man could dare commit was theft—stealing gold, stealing a life, stealing one's right to the truth. It was all the same to her, and it was something she could never tolerate. There were too many liars in the world—herself included.

The shortest of the group caught Sakura's dead stare somehow (how embarrassing) for he smiled and raised his weapon further. "So what will you do now? You're terribly outnumbered, even as Bishamon's servant-girl—or should I just call you his traitor?" he continued, his lips curled back with his sneer. _Ignorance, pure ignorance_, she inwardly sighed, though her rage flustered at the mentioning of her affiliation. Men were so bitter. They always wanted to fight no matter the risk. It was foolish in this situation, really, for she had the Gods on her side now. _He _had sent her, had asked of her to rid their world of green men and black hearts; to serve those who could not _**protect**_ themselves. _He _had faith in her and she would not fail to defend what _belonged to her. _But those men—those thieves—they stood their ground like boulders in an unrelenting stream. It was clear that their retreat was improbable. They would likely fight her to the death. A sigh of defeat escaped the rosette's lips again; this had become troublesome.

"If you will not leave quietly, I'll have no choice but you force you out." With the flick of her wrist the longbow folded, retracting like the closing petals of a pink pimpernel flower, and finally disappeared from sight with the sudden _poof_ of floral dust, leaving only the sharp arrow in the kunoichi's hand. She reached back to set it into her quiver, fingers twitching as her skin split red with its nasty influence, and she smiled. "Don't underestimate me!" She taunted whilst punching her fist into her palm. Sakura hesitated for just a second as she contemplated the removal of her mask, but instead left it in its rightful place. The best weapon a kunoichi had to employ was a man's imagination, after all. Eyes narrowing at the way the men leered; Sakura capitalized on the transient trance and swiped her bloodied fingers against the twin seals tattooed behind her ears. A swelling mushroom of swirling smoke burst and obscured the men's view. The glint of Sakura's weapon blinded them, stunned them into shielding their eyes, only adding to her growing ego. She held a pair of sai; their blades were razor-sharp with carvings they couldn't make out from their distance and stones red like the blood they once spilled. The men watched morosely as she twirled them between her fingers. Dangerous, dangerous—_dangerous_! "Don't even try coming at me," Sakura warned, amusement dripping from each uttered word. "You'll die before you could come close enough. So I'll give you one last chance: leave now and no more blood will spill."

_Fear, more fear._

Ignorant to their own fates, they attacked her, weapons drawn and seals casted. _Foolish, so foolish,_ she mused.

Sakura swiftly ducked and dodged all of their attacks, parrying and diving around like some sort of acrobat in an _**exotic**_ circus. She didn't want to kill them—she honestly didn't! She wasn't made to kill _and it wasn't even her job _but they left her no choice, she supposed. She disappeared in a flash, appearing behind one and plunging her sanctified blade into another. One man convulsed, blood rolling from his lips, eyes dilating as he slowly fluttered into darkness.

_A Shinigami now held his hand._

She pulled his dying body close, pressed him against her chest, and the men paused, stunned at Sakura's actions. She hoped this would be the end of their ridiculous feud and hoped that they'd stop and go back to their home, but their leader was so dumbly relentless that it was almost too painful to put up with. He'd stabbed the stolen blade through his body insensitively, pushing aside his comrade's life as if it meant nothing. Her blood boiled as she managed to evade the steel edge of the next attack. "His death was avoidable," she muttered, her fingers grazing over the vermilion splatter about her cheeks. She closed her eyes almost as if in mourning, and gripped her sai so tightly that the blood drained from her clenched knuckles.

The forest came alive then, with sounds no human could even try to replicate. Animals bewailed and screeched; the trees danced and impishly tittered; the thunder vindictively roared with rage. It was as if the Gods above them were unhappy.

The world was restless.

When she opened her eyes, those frightening green eyes of hers, she spoke, "Those who disregard the life of a comrade are lower than trash."

**.**

…

_**You just need to believe.**_

…

**.**

Watered down blood and plasma rained down and nearly stained the grass black. Bodies fell lifelessly, unceremoniously with dull thumps in sound and vacant expressions. Sad, sad—the Gods were sad; Sakura noted that she, too, was sad. Death was not hers to bring. She was a being of life, of healing. A shuddered sigh escaped her lips as the world began to _**mourn**_. The world hushed it's keyed up war chant; the Gods silenced their hopeful mantra. Gray clouds like wads of cotton rolled overhead, doubling up on one another with the threat of rain.

And then silence; the world went still once again.

"Had the peasant not screamed, he would not have been killed," Sakura murmured, her tone that of a sorrow-snubbed babe. Aqueous blood dribbled down her blades almost like tears, as if they too bewailed for the lives they'd stolen. And only a quick stint passed in solitude before pain coursed over Sakura's entirety. She tore the mask from her face, quietly crying out in utter agony; violaceous patterning had spread across her cheeks akin to that of a feline's stripes, with a stray crescentric marking illuminated above her brow. And her eyes watered and burned insufferably, as they held little semblance to her own—they were dissimilar, one with an amber halo and the other dark like the oceans. Sakura held her face in her hands as a way to ride out the pain, panic abruptly forcing her slam her hand into the ground; the earth cracked around her fist.

Someone was there; she just _knew _it. Chakra buzzing with excitement, Sakura pitched a round of knives behind her rather blindly, only for them to be caught and returned to the ground at her side. _Okay, safe_, Sakura thought, _safe._ Behind her, _he_ appeared; his hair was that of a rose and also long and disheveled. His skin was pale, flawless, glowing. Angelic—was he an angel, too? He moved closer to her, his white armor-clad hand resting gently atop her shoulder.

Warm; he was warm.

"Well," he hummed smoothly. His voice was rich, deep—that of a true man. It soothed her and scared her all at the same time. "I almost thought you couldn't handle it. You took a long time, and your show was rather melodramatic." A chuckle escaped her lips—a pure, untainted laugh that sent her partner's heart aflutter. He released her and moved to kneel beside her. Pain engulfed her body as the effects of her power emerged, snarled, demanding to be released. _It hurt so much_. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he returned to her, her mask, and went on to say, "Look at you, so desolate I'm smiling!"

Sakura held her tongue for a moment, waiting until all markings receded into her skin. Once she felt the youth of her expression, Sakura turned towards her partner and sneered, "You—Shut up Sasori!" Sasori tsk'ed and retrieved Sakura's mask from the ground, his head shaking at the cracks that had formed, before he returned it to her**.**

"You really should be kind to your master, Sakura. Without me, you have nothing."

**.**

…

_**But we're getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we? **__**  
><strong>__**Let's start at the beginning.**_

…

**.**

_**Part Two**_

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**.**

There was pain—a horrific, _nauseating_ pain that made Sakura's belly churn taut and her lungs smolder.

She could feel everything—the unsettled stomach, the splintered bones; the poison seeping through her winding veins. She could feel every single breath of air that was stuck against her throat and the individual pores running along her tongue. She just wanted to sleep, _perchance to dream_; to let go of the wine-like wisps tethering her to consciousness. Her lids were heavy, anyway, so all she needed to do was let go but the damned ache refused to let her forty winks bear purchase. She didn't know where she was, really, and the realization made Sakura's insides bubble and twirl with confusion and panic and fear. Her fingers twitched, her arm lifted—or at least, she thought it did. It hurt too much to know for sure if she moved or not.

"Stay still, kunoichi."

The voice that spoke petrified her. It was husky and profound, almost croaky in a way that rumbled deeply within his chest—it frightened her. "Stay still," he had ordered, but how could she now? Sakura couldn't quite recall much of what happened; she just remembered the smothering scent of decaying earth and the stench of blood, and some strange shade of blue. Maybe she heard a voice or two, but what did they say? It hurt her head too much to think of more.

A scream bounced along the surrounding walls then, terrifying Sakura, but then realization perforated deeply as she realized that, that horrid shriek had come from her own parched lips. She shifted on her table, her eyes rolling down until they hurt so she could catch a glimpse of what had happened. A pair of men was standing there, staring down at her with such blank expressions. Their faces were blurs, the colors of their eyes lifeless; their surgeon's masks were black with blood. One of the men circled around Sakura and set his tools down (they looked so macabre and outdated to what she was accustomed to). He came from behind, by her head, and he took her hands in his and pulled them up above her head, pinning her down in a way that made her hips and back lift from the table. Those cold, cold hands moved to the joints of her elbows, where his fingers locked vice in place. "Go on," the man above her urged the other, his grip tightening.

A paroxysm ensued as a blade dug deeply into the skin at Sakura's waist. She gasped and whimpered, unable to scream, and fought against the man above her with all the will she could—it wasn't much. It was vulgar and wrong, the way she felt; her belly seemed to upturn and flop, her heart heavily beating. The urge to retch had overcome. How wretched it was, to sit there in her own waste?

She didn't like the vulnerability.

"The poison," she heard the man above say. "It's starting to take effect. We need to remove it now before it reaches her heart."

Sakura's body twisted and contorted with the desire to steer away from this unknown man, but the bitter zing of skin like metal seared her wrists and kept her still. Lips, rough and just slightly dry, pressed against her abdomen, a tongue licked and his lips sucked—she felt a wash of watercolor rush over her. He was, oh Kami—he was sucking her blood. "Stop," She screamed, but she knew he couldn't hear her. She couldn't even hear herself. The world around her began to dim, the sounds began to fade and the pain suddenly dulled. Tired, she was tired. Vertigo made her head sway, then, and the man's words were lost to her. Disorientation made her vision blur. She could feel ghostly cold fingers intertwine with hers; could feel her body slowly swaying with a dance between black and white, and the handsome face of the unknown smiled at her.

_Their music was faint, like a slow waltz melody; and she distantly wondered if she'd stepped on his foot._

She felt his coldness crawl up her body, its sharp claws digging into her bones with its ascent, and then her heart stopped as it bitterly frosted over. It was weird feeling so lethargic and numb, but Sakura knew she sort of enjoyed it. She was dancing with Death and he seemed to welcome her company. But then suddenly, a jolt of electricity enveloped the cold shadows of her bereavement, and her throat burned desert dry. Her body jumped and twitched; her corpse convulsed out of Death's arms in painful desperation. She felt it again—_that __**damned**__ jolt_—and once more again and again.

The icy fingers of her conscious suddenly disappeared.

"Where am I," She wondered, and she blinked in surprise at the vivacious flashes of black and orange blurring across her pulsating vision.

"Just sleep, Sakura," another voice said. It was deep, but not as much as the first. It was almost soothing, like the gentle rumble of rain against the windowpane or the hum of a lullaby. She liked it. They spoke of things she couldn't exactly comprehend—broken bones and fractures, potent poisons and water; torn muscle tissue and such. She didn't really care. She was just too tired.

Morpheus held her now.

**.**

…

_Wars, bloodshed and tears; __  
><em>_cry! For this is the true life__  
><em>_of a warrior._

…

**.**


	2. Death Is Not Always Once

**Updated March 15, 2015**

**.**

**…**

**_Author: _**_Amaya  
><em>**_Editor: _**_Aiko  
><em>**_Rating: _**_Mature (see warnings below)  
><em>**_Characters/Pairing: _**_[Sakura X Pein] [Sakura X Sasori] [Sakura X Deidara]; Akatsuki  
><em>**_Themes: _**_Romance, Drama, Action, Adventure, Angst  
><em>**_Warnings: _**_Violence/Gore, Strong Language, Sexual Content, Mature Situations_

…

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**Arc I: Pretender  
>Chapter One: Death Is Not Always Once<strong>

**.**

**…**

_It surrounds us all  
>in a dark blanket of fear.<br>Death lulls us to sleep_

**…**

**.**

**_Time Skip—Several Months—Unknown Place_**

_Don't stop!_

Heavy, pain-filled breaths escaped from Sakura's lungs in labored successions; her legs trembled and ached, threatening to stiffen her muscles and buckle beneath her. Her heartbeat grew erratic as it stuttered within her breast and Sakura worried it would burst from the confines of her skeletal cage. Pain tugged at the muscles within her throat, compressing around her lungs and pushing out against her ribs; _everything hurt_. She wasn't quite sure how long she had been running or how far she'd gotten—in fact, her motives of flight were even a mystery to her own consciousness, but the gentle, nearly unnoticeable fall of a shadow's foot warned her of a man's pursuit.

_Stopping meant captivity. Running meant survival._

_Survival, captivity, subjugation—_she felt like a wild animal running around like this, and for a moment, her mind screamed: _you are!_

The terror began long before she dared step past the tunnel of the unknown, in the comfort (or discomfort, really) of the stark white bed of a hospital room. She had recognized the sterile scent as it invaded her nostrils and the blindingly white walls the moment her eyes fluttered open. She had no idea where she was, or how long she'd fallen to the control of slumber in this unfamiliar place of refuge, and such an anomaly petrified her. When she discovered the collar wound tightly within her flesh, needled and threaded between her veins, the realization of her inability to control her chakra came about. And Sakura _panicked_.

After so many years smothered in blood, dealing with severed limbs and gaping punctures, the thought of such clarity should have made her sigh in comfort; but it didn't. Instead, a terrible wave of claustrophobia came about her imagination, and each moment spent in white solitude brought her closer towards agitation than any other adversity she'd ever faced. The walls of white seemed to tower over her, actually; close in on her—suffocate her like the cold hands of depravity once tried. _Out,_ her mind screamed at her, _get the fuck out! _Shock and adrenaline drove her to rip out the wires connecting her to the monitoring machines at her bedside, and she all but threw herself out the window. That left here there, in an unknown society of morosely cloaked mortals; yet her mind registered only the rain as it washed over her, cleansing her of that sinful white insanity. Everyone's eyes were on her within moments of her escape—wary, apprehensive—and she felt out of place and cornered.

She couldn't breathe. _She couldn't breathe!_

She didn't like their stares. The people observed her, as if she were some kind of foreign experiment, and some even dared to reveal their cruel weapons—as if she would attack them. If that was their reaction, Sakura knew she was nowhere near the Lands of Fire or Wind. She was somewhere else entirely. The people's voices hissed at one another, trying to figure her out; _trying to catch her_. She couldn't let them—no she couldn't! The spellbinding crescendo of voices blurred into a bothersome whirlwind of sound that made her head thrum with a buzzing sort of pain; breaking only by particular voices that made her run even faster. A shriek of alarm escaped her throat and all the breath left her lungs as her body collapsed beneath her assaulter's tackle. Her ribs shuttered in excruciating contractions at the attack, forcing Sakura to squirm against the mud in an attempt to find comfort. Humiliatingly, her attacker sneered, "Where did you think you were going?" His voice was familiar, Sakura soon noticed. It was deep and velvety, reminding her of a midsummer night for some odd reason or another but despite the intoxicating velvet of his intonation, Sakura caught the slight monotonous acrimony beneath his words. Warily, Sakura tilted her neck and raised her shoulders off the ground in a lame attempt to catch a glimpse of her captor, and he stared back down at her with his head sloped slightly towards the left, almost as if amused at her actions. He wore a mask, of course, all of porcelain, and a ruby grin drawn across its face; and bolts of scarlet against his cheeks. So symmetrical was this mask, that is brought a film of horror to Sakura's mind, as it seemed to be made from pure illusions. _That smile_, her mind hissed, _I don't like that deceiving smile. _The man removed his stare from Sakura's figure and pressed his fingers against the radio along his neck, "Our mark has been claimed and subdued. I'm awaiting further instructions."

Sakura's fluttering heart thundered in her ears as she continued to panic, creating a rapid crescendo of percussion that made her muscles undulate to keep pace. Her lungs could hardly breathe with him crushing her the way he did, and she vaguely wondered if he knew that he was suffocating her. A momentarily stint of silence flooded their surroundings; her captor was silent, the surrounding villagers were silent, and she was silent. Now that she had a chance to see the world around her, she found her eyes resting upon a dark and dank cityscape of her place of refuge. The buildings were rather tall in comparison to those of her homeland, and they towered high enough to tear the wispy Heavens. They appeared to be made of twisting tin and metal, with ducts between and a cluster of cables running from one to the next in some kind of urban cobweb. The firmament seemed to be an eternal shade of gray that resembled a drop of milk curling about a bowl of water. And the smell was so impossibly organic, like rain-drenched flowers with just the slightest hint of pine needles.

_Is this...the land of perpetual rain?_

The village's name felt nice on her tongue, sending both the chill of apprehension and the ease of comfort—and she knew then just where she had been in refuge. Sakura was abruptly pulled away from her thoughts by her captor as he lifted her onto his shoulder. She shifted wildly in his hold, uncomfortable with the awkward angling of her body but he refused to acknowledge her presence with little more than a taunting sneer. He began walking, meandering casually through the dispersing crowd and towards the way they'd came, and the wicked wind whipped against her in a mocking sort of retribution. "Stay still, annoying brat," he commanded at the tensing of her muscles, his words dripping with annoyance and distaste. Eventually, Sakura stilled her body and allowed him to bring her through the municipality—but only because she was in too much pain to struggle any further. At this point, Sakura was sure she had used all of her energy at the wrong time.

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

**_Amegakure no Soto—Village Gates_**

They had left the confines of the village within minutes of her capture, and traveled across the rippling plane of the river until they could travel up the trail conveniently carved into the cliffside. The forest around them was a beautiful sight, in her opinion, but the mountains further towards the South had become the crown jewel to her perspective. The mountain stood so tall, so firm; and wildlife _breathed_ so comfortably from within, sending the whining nerves of Sakura's body into a state of leisure. "We shall arrive soon," her captor murmured as he began his hike up the mountain trail. Sakura didn't bother to waste her heavy breath on an inconsequential reply, and instead let her gaze fall over the violet-painted dusk wrapping around the lower village. Soon enough, they arrived at a leveled setting on the mountain that was gifted with lush pastures and knobbed trees offering protection against the wandering eyes of the world. A beautiful estate hid within the dell some odd miles into the woodland, with a wooden fence surrounding the expanse of its perimeter and willowing trees to embellish, and the sharp huff of a mare resonated towards them. Her captor pressed his palm against the front of the entry, and Sakura felt the chill of his chakra flowing into the gate before it creaked open.

Unlike the ghastly images conjured by her imagination, the inhabitants of the state had been not much more than a handful of attendants dressed in red and white, and animals with healthy bulges against their soft pelts. A pup even dared to rush towards their form and dance in place with a desperate whimper for attention, but her captor carefully pushed him away. Feeling her feet pressed against the ground, Sakura set her hand against the shoulder of her captor in an attempt at balance only for him to roughly push her past the circling multitude of fowls and towards the cobblestones leading through the courtyard, where on either side of the blue stoned path rested tall statues of animal deities and demons, and sylphlike trees of pink and purple blossoms.

"I've brought the girl," she heard from behind, and she found herself thrown against the stone pavement.

"I can see that. Tie her down."

The decadence of the voice following her captor's had seemed too masculine to belong to any human, and the desire to dare a glance overwhelmed all traces of common sense, but when she found the nerve to look up, Sakura scrambled to the ankles of her previous host as horror settled over. The man before her had hair akin to metallic corrosion, which spilled around his head as choppy layers in a methodical sort of way. And his grey eyes were so profound in the way they traced the plane of her trembling form, almost as if catching his gaze could lure one into the comfort of inner desire. Though every bit handsome, the man's face bore metal bars and rings in multiple places—his ears, his nose, his lips. And Sakura realized_—__Akatsuki! Impossible!_

The muscles in Sakura's body stretched over her bony frame, making her body ache as Death's fingers wrapped tightly around her dry throat. She couldn't stop trembling, no matter how harshly she demanded herself to, and she whimpered at the Akatsuki Leader's gentle touch. He had knelt to her level when she first found comfort in her captor's imminence, and he had reached to touch her—to stroke her as if she were his darling pet. Stunned, Sakura quickly flinched away.

She was terrified—absolutely, deathly terrified.

_Pitiful_, he mused, _utterly pitiful_.

"What do you want with me?" Her voice quivered as she spoke, making her appear every bit as fragile as her namesake, and she cursed herself for her blatancy. Pein paused just as his fingers inched towards her cheek, stopping so closely to her that Sakura could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and it seemed to coax her into his embrace despite herself. He was not exactly warm, but neither was he cold.

"We are not your enemy," Pein insisted. "What has happened in the past shall remain behind us, Sakura, and you will cooperate. Won't she, Sasori?"

Sakura turned her attention towards her captor, her eyes widening further as he removed his mask; and the angelically handsome features of this dead man came to life within moments. He looked as he always did—_of what she remembered from that cold cave_—his mint-chocolate eyes were as cold as she remembered, and his feathery hair had stolen a hue of elven scarlet that just seemed intensified with his stare. The sharpness of his nose seemed accentuated for some reason or another and his expression relaxed immensely—purely angelic if not absolutely terrifying. Sasori must've noticed her observation because his lips lifted into an amused smirk, and he brought a hand to harshly turn her head away. "Of course sir," he purred, "it's all water under the bridge."

Sasori stepped back as Sakura spat at him in return. Then she began cursing at them, spitting profanities that could put any seasoned shinobi to shame, and both men dismissed her tantrum without so much as a sigh. She went on, screaming, "Don't you monsters touch me!"

The abrupt coldness of some unknown entity rushed against her rising flesh; all the breath escaped Sakura's lungs within one painful rush that left her breathless and distressed while her mind attempted to comprehend what exactly had happened. _Water, _she realized, watching as the clear pearls dribbled down the ends of her hair, and she brought her eyes across the one who dared attempt to drown her. It was a woman—a woman whose otherworldly beauty made Sakura's head bow in humiliation. Purple ringlets of hair fell around her pastel cheeks; that little flower adorned the crown of her bun, just as Sakura once remembered, and those honey-glazed eyes were so full of condescendence that it threatened Sakura's nerves.

"A woman should never use such horrific language," Konan coldly chastised. Pein offered his agreement in the form of a nod and allowed the slightest trace of displeasure to flicker within his abyssal orbs. When he caught the shame burning against her cheeks, Pein's fingers closed around her jaw and he pressed heavily against her joints to silence. Sakura flinched, but forced herself to meet his eyes once again.

"You've stretched the limits of my hospitality and my patience, Girl," he murmured, his pupils trembling as he traced her expression. He released her then, and rose to his full height while Sasori enthusiastically dragged her towards the gates; Sakura struggled, spitting out her insults as terror overcame her training, kicking like some wild animal. Sasori all but threw her against the corner of a nearby statue, sending her vision into a miasma of inky black. All the breath escaped her lungs, incapacitating her long enough for Sasori to hoist her unto his shoulders. Pleased, Pein waved his hand and hummed, "Let her watch from far away. Keep her there until she learns of humility—no matter how long it may take."

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

**_Amegakure Cliffs_**

The gates surrounding the land were like nothing Sakura had ever seen before. They were gargantuan, forged of black-stained steel and at least three feet thick all the way around. Guard stations were posted every several feet with catwalks patrolled by heavily armed guards cloaked in armor. Small ferries and boats traveled between the golden cliffs and the tumbling current of the Tenshi waterfall, as if they held naught a care. There was not much land within distance of her touch, and the only source of greenery rested several hundred feet above and below.

Had the situation been any better, Sakura would've whistled in appreciation.

She had been chained down beneath a willow tree at the very edge of the cliffs, right between the ground and heavens. The links to her chains were thick and heavy, so heavy in fact that she could hardly lift them inches above the ground. However many days that passed went unknown and whatever meal she skipped had gone uncounted. As the current day wound towards a painted sky of violets and magentas, Sakura shifted so her ankles could cross one another—as if it would somehow make her feel comfortable. She wasn't sure how long she'd been left in the beating sun, left to fend against the taunting licks of the guarding hounds and the ticklish intentions of the passing insects, without food or water to alleviate the twist in her stomach, but she was too disturbed to stomach whatever meal possibly given, she knew. Sakura was too disturbed to even think about eating. The very thought of _food_ made her so incredibly sick that she was sure she'd vomit (if she had anything in her stomach, that is).

The sun had been her enemy in those few (or perhaps many) days;

_They're not real, _Sakura silently recounted. _Pein, Konan, Sasori...they're not alive. They're reanimated._

She repeated it to herself over and over again, just as she had since she had awoken. She hadn't slept at all since then, even when her body begged her—but she couldn't dare give in. Not with her nightmares. But in all honesty, Sakura couldn't help but berate herself for getting captured like this and for letting fear override her training. _How stupid!_ She needed to get away from there, her body told her, but there was something about imprisonment that made freedom seem almost disgusting.

The wind shifted suddenly, forcing Sakura to flinch back and square her shoulders. Sasori was suddenly before her, his stance casual and his grin smug; he swaggered over with his arms crossed and his head tilted back—looking so damned comfortable and leisurely, too. The desire to spit at him was almost too appealing to let waste, but Sakura knew she hadn't the energy to waste. Noticing her silence, Sasori darkly chuckled, "No banter today, brat? I was almost looking forward to it." He knelt down to Sakura's level as if to emphasize his superiority over her, then dejectedly continued, "I suppose I've come to you with glad news. I won't be killing you just yet, but believe me when I say it isn't by choice. I'm under orders."

It was almost as if a segment of Sakura's life revealed itself to be a lie; Sasori's stare alone perforated the fragile silk of her resolve, mockingly stripping away the confidence from her skeletal structure and ending the fantasy of this _abysmal _reality. He was so absolutely dangerous, ever so conniving—the true embodiment of a vengeful spirit—and he was lounging right beside her. So demented was this forgotten soul that he found pleasure in Sakura's anxiety and capitalized on her discomfort by gratuitously sliding his fingers against her cheeks—_her hair, her neck—_anything to prove that he held control over her.

After all, he was a puppet master. He strove for domination. And he was letting her know: _I'm here for you._

Sakura searched her mind for an adequate question to gift or find something to say, but only one thought reached the surface of her imagination. It was so difficult to think with her excitement—_repulsion—_as his fingers drew against her flesh and it took nearly a moment to inquire, "Why are you here? Sai sent your soul away!"

Befuddled by the kunoichi's statement, Sasori smirked in a sadistic and fascinating way that made Sakura's heartbeat accelerate. There was a certain something about that look that compelled her to feel attracted—his eyes held such delight and passion, his skin glew as he transcended into nirvana, his lips were pale pink and smooth; he both entranced and disquieted her. He observed her closely now, tilting her head this way and that, sneering when she slapped his hands away. "He didn't do that well of a job, seeing as how I'm here as flesh and bone."

"You can't give flesh to something that doesn't exist," Sakura spat. "When my battalion arrives—"

"There is no battalion, little girl, because there is no war! It was over years ago. We are _in a state of peace._" The way Sasori's intonation altered gave Sakura a sense of suspense and confusion, for it was almost as if he had spat his last words with much relent.

"Yeah, because I'm really going to believe you, of all people!"

"Still base I see," Sasori sneered, "Believe what it is you wish. But surely, someone of your intelligence would do well to take into account the entirety of the scenario." Sasori paused (for dramatic effect) before he drew on, "we weren't in any particular rush, you see? I kept you well preserved until just a month ago. Your vitals had regenerated and your body was, for the most part, back in strength. We just waited until the right time to wake you up."

"What do you mean "wake up"," Sakura inquired, her tone of guarded disbelief.

Ignoring the way Sakura shivered and her emotionally distorted query, Sasori ran his fingers through his hair and sighed almost delightedly. "You were kept in a state of suspended animation—a coma—so that when the time was perfect, we could wake you."

"What in all Hell are you talking about," Sakura questioned, her voice in bark. "You don't make any sense!"

Sasori skipped over her question, and instead went on to mock her. "Poor Naruto-kun was left so disconsolate when he found out you wouldn't be coming back home. He waited for you at the gates every day, you know? A lot of _them_ did." Sasori searched through his pocket and pulled a stack of water-damaged photographs from it, then threw them down at her feet. In them, she could see a young man with blonde hair sitting at the very bench she once sat, crying as he had in those pictures. And in others, she saw Ino beside him, sobbing it seemed. In one picture—the one that really made her chest ache—she saw Kakashi propped against the gate with his infamous book in hand. He'd read that issue hundreds of times before, Sakura recalled, smiling for just a second, but it was soon to leave for she saw the pain written so heavily about his face. She could see his tears and the way he seemed to ready to scream. So many pictures from so many angles, some close and some afar—it was almost creepy. "And when the search for you was over, and your body unaccounted for, your name was carved in stone."

"No…"

"A doll of your likening was buried. Lanterns filled the bubbling, gold skies. Paper dolls were set along the rivers—all with hundreds of others who were lost in war."

"Just…just be quiet!" _Don't believe him_, Sakura tried to tell herself, but her conscience was so frail that she couldn't hear it. She didn't want to believe anything that came from that monster's supple lips no matter how succulent the current of his tone, but Sakura knew—_she knew_—that there was no deceit within Sasori's taunt.

The inhuman smile on Sasori's face disappeared then and Sakura swore his eyes flashed brown with empathy. And she nearly laughed at the truth behind his snicker; how dismal and ironic. A man feeling sympathetic towards his murderer—it made for an interesting story, she admitted, but kept her mouth shut as not to stir his annoyance further. Sasori could see it in her eyes, the desolate confusion, and he knew Sakura was trying so desperately to grasp the thin ropes of her optimism, her hope; and he could see that she wanted to believe him, but that damned will of hers stopped her. She was trying to distinguish the paint from the shadows at this point, and all she needed was a little push in the right direction. The redhead watched the emotions so transiently flickering across Sakura's morose expression. He could always read her so easily, it seemed, and he found his own heart softening as her olive eyes began to polish over. Sorrow could be easily understood, for he too felt the urge to cry once. Death came so suddenly, so cruelly, and the added malevolence of a corrupted betrayal made it all the more displeasing. Finally, Sasori turned away, and before he left he said, "All those you loved—all on with their lives while you have nothing. You are useless."

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

Every day for the next week or so, Sasori came to her with scraps of food. He repeated his stories about her death, insistently showed her those heart-breaking photographs of the place she loved, and it did much more damage to her than she ever expected. He was the only human contact she had now, and in a way, she almost anticipated the moment he came around. The last of her morale had crumbled into fine crystals of dust, and she found her body unresponsive to even her own desires. Her heart had fallen into her stomach by now, and her tears had dried up so what was the use of crying? Sakura lowered her head to look at her legs, those thin bony things. She wasn't a kunoichi anymore, no, she was a _Ronnin_ now—a warrior without a master, a child without a parent. She was nothing, just a ghost. She felt somewhat _relieved _at this sense of nonexistence, as if she belonged within the heavy shadows of nonentity. She could truly ascend into nirvana now. And she even thought she was going insane for a moment because of this because she wanted to _smile_. Was it wrong to smile at this?

Sasori came like clockwork; it was late into the afternoon, nearing evening, but this time he came without a meal. "You smell," he offhandedly commented, his nose vaguely scrunched up and his expression almost of disgust. Snubbed by Sasori's scoff, Sakura scrunched her brows towards the center of her forehead and exhaled loudly through her nose. Turning her head towards the marbled sky, Sakura frowned. Sasori could see the soft wisps of fatigue in those beautiful pools of emerald, but he wasn't sure if it was death that made her tremble, or isolation—of having no purpose in this condescending world.

_Her spirit is decaying,_ Sasori realized. _How boring._

The redhead brought his hand to rest upon Sakura's arm then, neither out of comfort nor ill-will, and tossed his head from side to side to alleviate the pain in his neck. He could feel her breath undulating within her chest, could see her eyes glazing over with Death, and the flesh of Sasori's body began to rise out of pure enthusiasm. "I realize you strive to live only so you can return to your home, but you fail to realize that your hopes are truly in vain. Your happily ever after went on without you."

"Then why are you keeping me here?" Sakura's voice was coarse and raspy, almost like that of a dying elderly. A shiver grasped Sasori's spine at the comparison, as the image of an old, silver-haired woman tore through his memories. Sasori glanced off into the distance, almost seeming to avoid Sakura's figure, or as if nervous.

"It doesn't matter." The way he said that was rather brusque and curt, more or less out of his own annoyance, but it intrigued Sakura nonetheless. Sakura closed her eyes as she attempted to recall the events of that particular day; she'd been trying to for quite some time now, but the fog in her mind never seemed to dissipate. If anything, it was more difficult to remember the more she thought about it. She couldn't remember anything except watching Naruto descend into his sage state, and smelling the death the flooded the blood-soaked earth. For a moment, she actually felt gooey drops of plasma clinging to the fine hairs on her skin, and she fought the urge to brush the phantom sensation off. Sasori definitely noticed. "I can kill you, if you'd like," he offered, offhandedly. Slowly, he brought his hand towards Sakura's neck so his thumb rested against her windpipe, silently promising to crush it. "You don't want this life—or lack thereof. It will be easier. Don't make me wait for your answer." His harsh words brought forth a spark of anticipation within her gaze, giving her a certain allure he couldn't quite pinpoint, but she seemed to take excitement from his use of force. Amused at her reaction, Sasori applied more pressure to his hold then let the fingers of his other hand push against her ribs.

_He's insane!_

A sudden rush of icy hair came upon the pair, enveloping them forebodingly as shadows began to distort before them. Sasori sucked at his teeth in frustration, then sighed disappointedly as he rose to his natural height; Sakura nearly tumbled back for she had not realized how much she relied on him to hold her steady. Pein stood there, looming as he always did (most likely a clone, however.) His expression was rather unamused, if not furious, but Sakura could never tell with men like him. "Sasori," Pein sternly addressed. "That is enough. She needs no torture."

Sasori said nothing, but scoffed slightly and turned his stare elsewhere, obviously snuffed at his leader's sudden arrival. Sakura, however, could do nothing but look up at the man. He was shorter than she thought, much softer in opulence than she imagined, and there was a peculiar warmth that lingered behind his cold stare. She was not afraid to catch his eyes in even gaze, not as she would have once upon a time, and in an odd way, she almost felt contented. Seeing that Pein would not speak, Sakura decided upon herself to ask, "What do you want with me?"

Amused, Pein crossed his arms above his muscled chest then returned, "Whatever do you want with yourself?"

"What options do I have? Death?"

"If that is what you wish," Pein answered, one hand leaving to gesture towards the redhead. "Sasori would have no qualms with such an end." Then he straightened completely and cleared his throat—something she had a hard time picturing, honestly—before he went on to say, "I am a man of peace. The Akatsuki was once of such ideals, before Uchiha Obito tainted our ambitions. We are all now men of peace, which is why I have returned to you, your petty life."

"Once cursed by an Uchiha, always cursed," Sakura spat.

"Do not judge one for sinning differently than you," Pein hissed. "All sides have one goal: to thrive. It is just who you chose to be loyal to who chooses your enemy." Sakura wanted to disprove his logic, but found herself silenced by the fact he brought forth. She had no right to speak anyway, she knew. Acknowledging Sakura's acquiesce, Pein continued, "We no longer hunt down the tailed beasts, but wish to protect them from others like Obito. Your friend, Uzumaki Naruto, especially."

"Why?"

Pein turned away, almost as if to hide his expression from the pinkette (or so she assumed). "My reasons are my own, but they mean no harm to him or your village, Girl. In fact, I wish to employ you."

"Why would I bother with you?"

"Because no one else cares for you," Pein sharply retorted. "I know all about your life before, Sakura. How you pined for Uchiha Sasuke and how you strived for your power. I also know that to the rest of the world, you are dead." He lifted his hand and gestured to the village below them. "Here, there are people who need you, who will praise you and adore you for all that you will do. You will never again be obsolete." _Obsolete,_ Sakura repeated in her head. That word held so much emotion and meaning to her, because of all her suffering in the past. She had always been two steps behind, a minute too slow; throughout the years Sakura saw nothing but everyone's backs. It's because of that, that things went so horribly wrong—with Sasuke leaving and with Naruto's depression. She hated herself so much for it. Sakura lightly bit her lip as if to keep herself from speaking. Catching the way Sakura hesitated Pein resisted the urge to sneer, but instead continued, "I also know that you are someone who desires direction and order. To be left in the leisure of common life would be as good to you as death. And although I will not hunt for you should you chose freedom and leisure, I can never promise that Sasori won't one day come for you. Should you decide to chase a life of adventure and necessity, I will be here to gift it." Her eyes traveled over to the crimson haired man sitting just outside her reach; he was observing her with an expression of monotony, though she could see the anticipation smoldering within his stare.

Sakura shivered and brought her gaze elsewhere to gather her thoughts. She held no doubt at Pein's admission, as he was a man of his word, she knew; but she also knew he wouldn't so much as bat an eyelash should Sasori return with her corpse. Disbelief flashed over and over again within Sakura's mind as the black-feathers of illusions crossed her imagination. There was no actuality within this world anymore, or truth lingering behind the dancing shadows, yet his speech brought forth sensations of credence to bubble within the surface of Sakura's conscience. His words were true to the core—about the lackluster that came with the simple life—but to trust that man would be worse than any deal with demons. _But it's not as if I have a _real _choice…_

"I don't trust you."

"As you shouldn't."

"But I know I won't last long on my own."

Sasori piped in then, sneering, "That is likely."

Frowning, Sakura clenched her fists until the blood drained from her knuckles—an action not unnoticed by the men before her. "I swear if you ever hurt Naruto, I'll do everything in my power to end every last one of you, once and for all."

Rather than reprimand her, Pein shifted on his feet (another thing that seemed unnatural for him) and tilted his head amusedly. "Still ferocious, even without your strength, I see. I don't care if you believe me now, but you will, in time, see that all is not as it seems. However, do not take my kindness as weakness, Sakura. You've run my patience a bit already." Sakura turned her head away like a child would, and inwardly Sasori thought, _spoiled brat; _Pein however, seemed less than bothered by Sakura's reaction. He sifted through a pocket in his trousers until he found a copper key, then pitched it to Sasori who began to work the latches of her shackles.

Once freed, Sakura rubbed at the blue sores on her skin, her brows furrowed and her eyes dark with a sort of vehemence Sasori had seen once before. Now filled with a sort of strength, Sakura straightened herself and shrugged away from Sasori when he attempted to assist her in standing. "Until I see this transformation with my own eyes, I will be watching you." Pein said nothing, instead opting to staring out at the village before them, with that expression of peace. The way he stood was casual and confident, yet at the same time seemed to be overwrought with worry perchance. He would not say anything else for a while it seemed, and it was only when Sasori pulled on her arm did Sakura comprehend that it was time to leave him be.

But as she was leaving and the wind picked up, Sakura couldn't help but look back at Pein—she swore she heard him say, _"I would never hurt Naruto."_

**.**

**…**

_Corpses litter the  
>darkness of our dreams; and you<br>dare caress my cheek._

**…**

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note<strong>

**Well, here is the first chapter to the story. As you can see it's  
>been revised quite a bit.<strong>

**I'm going for a different view this time around, but  
>I assure you it won't COMPLETELY change the story and its vision.<br>I actually think you guys would like it more than ever.**

**It took a while to revise this, and came with a rather fair amount of writer's block  
>and frustration. You have no idea how upset I am with the<br>outcome of this chapter. I hate it. But I don't know how I can possibly arrange it any other way.  
>I suppose it's okay though. I promise the rest of the story won't be as dreary and repetitive, or as<br>substandard as this chapter was!**

**Thanks again for everything!  
>Drop a review, like our Facebook page, and follow our Pintrest!<strong>

**Amaya**


	3. Always Forward, Never Back

**.**

**…**

**_Author: _**_Amaya  
><em>_**Editor: **__Aiko  
><em>_**Rating: **__Mature (see warnings below)  
><em>_**Characters/Pairing: **__[Sakura X Pein] [Sakura X Sasori] [Sakura X Deidara]; Akatsuki  
><em>_**Themes: **__Romance, Drama, Action, Adventure, Angst  
><em>_**Warnings: **__Violence/Gore, Strong Language, Sexual Content, Mature Situations_

…

.

**Arc I: Pretender  
>Chapter Two: Always Forward, Never Back<strong>

**.**

**…**

_He can see her tears.  
>Hesitance burns like the sun.<br>And yet, she looks back._

…

.

**_Amegakure Cliffs—Akatsuki Estate—Meeting Chambers_**

There was once a time, where Pein dreamt of angels.

He dreamt of a world that held no barriers and clinched no chains, where happiness came with the natural glow of the morning's rise; but it was entirely impossible. In an imperfect world with wars and daggers and controlled substances, there could never be peace. There could never be serenity or even hope.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try.

There was a reason he had risen from the grave and why he was given a second chance in this cruel existence, and he deciphered the angels' gift as such: _speak for the children who have no chance, serve the towns that pay in tax; protect the women who have lost love and embrace the men who have none. _From death and deception his army rose. Their ailments and defects minute against their original pain, and their appearances altered if just a bit; but they were no longer broken. They were his angels—all of them too imperfect for the world's justice—and Konan floated as his true seraph. Together they were invincible, divided fantastic; and he had been given one more angel—one who could mend and repair and remove the pain; _she was a gift._

After glancing at Konan, Pein gave her a light nod of affirmation. To what, there was no answer.

It was all Konan needed to smile at him, and she approached him the way she always did; her hand was warm against his skin, and so comforting. But she dared not linger a second more than she knew necessary, and left the chambers in alleviated silence.

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

**_Kusagakure no Soto_**

Hidan watched, violent eyes glimmering excitedly with mischief. Jaw clenching in unimaginable annoyance—teased, teased, _teased_. Why was he laughing? Hungry, his body hissed, he was insatiably hungry—though not for food. _Go now_, he told himself, humming with laughter.

No, not yet.

Contradicting thoughts swarmed Hidan's head, making his body lurch then rest, then stagger once more. Was he in the right place? Yes, he was. Wasn't he? Did it matter? _Not that he cared_. Eyes like magenta roamed her body appreciatively. Medium build, tall, tanned skin drenched in fresh sweat—she was running, training most likely.

She looked delicious.

_No, don't say that._

He couldn't handle it, not anymore. He fought himself, a battle waging within his head while his feet moved on its own. Closer, he was closer. He could feel her blood rolling over his pallid skin, soaking his rosary and his soul with her very essence. Damn, he was on a mission. He almost forgot. Sighing, Hidan stepped back into the shadows of his hideous, hovering between hell and earth. Appropriate, wasn't it? He laughed bitterly. His stomach felt _weird_ every time he skipped out on an appropriate sacrifice; it felt as if he was falling sometimes. He sort of liked it, and sort of hated it.

Hidan blinked, slowly, puzzled. Something was making his body tingle. Poison? No, he was immune to every poison the world could conjure. It felt faintly familiar and welcomed. His left index finger felt as if it were on fire. Oh, yeah, his ring.

He could feel the liquid-fire coursing through his veins. It was painful—a sharp, throbbing pain—meaning it was of utmost importance.

"Now that's not fair," he whined, frowning as Kakuzu came from behind him. "I can't kill, I can't give my offerings, and now I can't even watch? Jashin will be forever angry."

"Shut up and get it over with," Kakuzu grunted. "We need to get going."

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

**_Konohagakure Outskirts_**

Itachi could feel his adrenaline rushing throughout his veins—_he hadn't felt as such in so long_.

His body was sore, a bit heavier than it usually was, almost as if he were out of shape. _Ridiculous_. With his next step, Itachi used the momentum to throw himself towards the side to avoid a knife pitched his way, then spun on his heel to keep running. It was thrown horribly and had a bit of a wobble to it, so there was no doubt it would miss him.

All of the world blacked, leaving only a labyrinth of vacant doors. He turned right. He turned left. He dodges away from all of the dancing shadows. Itachi moved with a sluggishness not at all like him. _Fear was nothing but a restraint that only grew stronger with time_. A slight sensation of trepidation stabbed at Itachi's spine, its disgusting fingers tugging at his limbs. He closed his eyes, wishing to leave the nothingness of death behind him. Footsteps echoed about the cobblestone and concrete, reverberated off the buildings beside him. It was dark in there, so dark that he only imagined where he stepped. His lungs hurt, his throat burned with his intensive run, screaming at him, _"stop, please stop!"_

He was so close to freedom, he could taste it.

An odd sound resounded about his hideaway. The sound was hard to comprehend, but the closest he could describe it was akin to a wind chime of dried bamboo. A gust of wind made him pause and stumble with a bout of panic as he slipped past the oncoming slips of metal aimed at him. Kunai lodged into the earth just before him, letting him know that all those knives were not products of ill-aim, but of someone who was toying around. Footsteps came from behind him, and when he turned to glance at his pursuer, he stumbled over his own stupid feet. His skull smashed into the building behind him, and his body crumbled to the ground as all trace of strength disappeared. He couldn't run anymore. He couldn't fight.

A familiar burn came across his body in abrupt, yet relaxing pulsations then, slowly traveling its way up and down his limbs with its epicenter being his finger.

"Itachi-san?"

When he opened his eyes, the world was bright and warm; the clouds were like frayed cotton and the sunlight was kind. Glancing towards the left, Kisame stood with an expression of worry. "Having a nightmare in the daytime," Kisame asked, somewhat teasingly and somewhat not. "To invoke the Tsukiyomi upon oneself is insane."

Itachi stood up and brushed the dirt from his trousers, dismissing the hand Kisame offered with a polite nod. "No," he replied, pausing to fasten his cloak to the clasps on his shoulders. "It's refreshing." Kisame gave a low hum in skepticism but said nothing of it. He instead ambled out of the river pool and collected his belongings. Aware of Kisame's doubt, Itachi began to walk ahead; Kisame would catch up when he could. Until then, he had all of the world to cross.

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

**_Kamiko Village_**

_Waiting, watching, whispering_

Deidara knew for certain he wasn't right for this sort of job—he wasn't the type to stalk and linger, or hide like some rat. No, he was loud and audacious—_artistic_—couldn't anyone understand that? And of all people to send on such a quest, why was it _him? _The job was to watch (something that he wasn't exactly best at); the target was a foolhardy daimyo from Kamiko's affluent stones. Whatever he did to anger Pein was beyond his comprehension, but Deidara supposed the asshole withheld his end of a deal or something to that nature. And the bastard ignored the previous threats and warnings (complimentary of Kakuzu's arsenal of masked sadism), acting as if he were damn-near untouchable.

_No one is untouchable,_ Deidara sneered.

It was a cold day, just as it was every other day in Rain Country, but here in the lands of Kamiko it snowed. The white of Deidara's armor and cloak helped camouflage him from even the most trained of eyes, so much so that Deidara could rest atop the snow-blanketed rooftop of the daimyo's private estate with certain ease, but the temperature was a different story all together. He could feel the painful burn of the ice against his flesh and the vice-like grip of the winter breeze between the gaps within his armor, but it didn't bother him _that _much—being from Iwa and all. But it was still bothersome to some degree. He was alone this time, no longer with a partner to keep him busy or child to babysit; he wasn't quite sure if he was thankful or bitter. And it was Tobi—Madara, Obito—_who the fuck ever_—'s fault; the philistine asshole lied to everyone—_to him _all because of his idiotic thoughts of fucking grandeur. And Deidara actually held some sort of respect for him—_not that he'd ever admit it out loud_—once upon a time_. _And then Sasori, the only partner he really, truly respected, had been assigned to their newest charge, _Sakura. _Her name was sickly-sweet against his tongue as he whispered it to himself, and the mouths against his palms grew restless at the gross cliché.

He remembered her almost instantaneously, and had once thought about her even before he discovered her along the Riceland's river pool. She was drowning in her own blood, he recalled, quaking and whimpering as death approached; and all that remained in those gruesome moments was not in fact a kunoichi, but the dismal snippets of a pathetic child. She had been well off at first; her regiment had done well to force enemy forces back into their own lines. Deidara remembered hearing Kabuto's voice in his decaying head, cursing lowly with fury as one after another of his Zetsu drones were demolished, and as his reanimated corpses began to reach their nirvana. Deidara had been passing through with Itachi while scouting out their borders when they heard Kabuto's needy little voice command a second strike against her squad—and with pleasure, Deidara knew he was going to be the one to kill her. Before he reached her though, Deidara was forced to stop himself. Sakura was there, standing worn with blackened blood pouring from her abdomen—_infected with poison_—with Zetsu drones surrounding her. A horror-struck chill curled around the fissures of Deidara's spine as he recalled the savagery behind Sakura's attack.

She fought like a wild animal against Kabuto's pawns, destroying one after another like the very earth beneath their feet, and the pungent tingle of revenge simmered deliciously against his tongue; _he was drunk off of her impending demise. _But the smile he first held began to fade as he noticed the arrival of another woman. She was the trick who followed Sasuke Uchiha around, Deidara immediately recalled, his neck burning unbearably with fury. Zetsu's clones had gone away by then, unseen just as the original would, leaving the two women to exchange curses and fists.

It was never a fair fight from the start.

Deidara's eyes shut tightly as corpses and dismembered limbs danced across the blackness of his vision, mocking him with awful screams. The scent of death nearly knocked him back—_it was just too much_. Then he remembered Sakura again, drowning in soil and fighting against the world, doing all she could even as her organs were peeking out of the wound on her waist.

_"__I'll stop you!"_

That shriek—_Deidara shut his eyes once again_—it was so hard on the heart, so much so that even he began to tremble. Sakura was strong (he'd admit that any day), and she was so damn passionate and unbreakable, and to see her so crazed made him feel so damn guilty. He wanted to help—_Oh Kami, he wanted to_—but Itachi held him back before he could even try. _"She'll die soon," _that fucking Uchiha had said. _"It is not our place…not now."_

It was rather sickening to see such a strong girl, in a position so pathetic. _She_ was pathetic.

When the groaning and cursing had died from Sakura's bloodied lips, Deidara recalled, her body quaked with convulsions. Her organs were failing, her vision was darkening; her blood was thinning from the anticoagulants from Zetsu's attacks. She was still alive when she was tossed her into the river, struggling to stay afloat

snarling at her to stay silent and beating her face; then he remembered an icy coldness rushing over his body as he dove into the river. Deidara couldn't remember hesitating when he dove into the water, or wanting to stop despite how cold it was. He remembered fighting desperately against the current with all the strength he could attempt to muster. He remembered wrapping his arms tightly around her, and never once stopping until he broke against the surface—ignoring the sharp bite of the Shinigami's grasp.

_You've gone soft!_

Deidara quickly disregarded his cogitations as a searing heat expanded through his body, its epicenter being the ring upon his finger. Sighing almost with relief, the blond rose to his feet, daring to stretch out his limbs and back, then wove the seals to disappear from existence.

**.**

**…**

**The Making of Legends**

**…**

**.**

**_Amegakure Cliffs—Akatsuki Estate_**

Sasori glanced up at the stairs before him (glaring, really) while his fingers drummed over the edges of his tray in systematic succession. The steam of the soup simmering atop the tray obscured his vision in just the slightest, stirring his annoyance further as he slowly ascended the staircase. The weeks passed so quickly in his opinion, the days blurring into one mass of hours and the nights almost nonexistent; then again, he spent a majority of his days at Sakura's side, reworking his collection of puppets so he couldn't really complain. Though he supposed he could've forwent Sakura's persistent (and unwanted) sarcasm and her boorish vocabulary; she was constantly pushing him towards the ill-omened thoughts of his imagination. He'd think of poisons in these times, of how her body would convulse and seize under the pretense of epilepsy or aversion—and he actually dared chance it for a stint, too. He slipped just a bit of arsenic into her tomato bisque and fed it to her every day. A deranged smile arranged about his expression as he recalled the way she quivered and gasped not too long ago, when the arsenic began to fall into effect, but then he sneered detestably as he recalled how quickly her body destroyed the toxin.

_It figures,_ he thought, _next time, I'll use coagulants._

Then again, he supposed Pein wouldn't be quite happy if he were to succeed—or even if he failed a second time. The man was rather belligerent about the previous incident, and Sasori knew better than to try a second time. Sighing, Sasori parted the entrance to Sakura's chambers then shut it behind him without caring much for the insistent noise he made. In fact, he took extra care to push her table and clanked her dishes, then roughly set the tray atop the table, spilling a fair amount of food about the table. He heard Sakura shuffling about in bed and groaning, but said nothing of it and instead moved to sit in his usual place at the table. "Do you always greet people like this," she mumbled dispassionately as she sat up in bed. Sasori glanced at her cumbersomely.

"I don't greet people at all."

"I can see why." Sakura watched warily as Sasori stirred the bisque, carefully searching his exposed arms for any trace of substance and pulling aside the different scents. "What do you want now? Or are you just here because you like harassing me?"

Sasori sucked at his teeth almost amusedly and moved to help her from bed despite her protests, then put her into the cushion below. "You flatter yourself a bit excessively. But I'm sorry to disappoint you—I'm only making sure you haven't died yet."

"Because you want to be here when it happens?"

"When you put it that way, it sounds malicious," he teased. "It's in your best interest to accept my company."

Sakura sneered as she cautiously sipped at the broth provided, "Don't flatter yourself, asshole."

Rage darkened Sasori's stare at the insult thrown, and his hand darted against her eye's ability, fingers curling around her wrist too tightly for her to hold her spoon. His other hand gripped her jaws and pulled her close—so close that she could smell the beef upon his breath, and he seethed, "Such harsh words for a child. Then again, even children know when to hold their tongues, don't they?" He was gifted naught a response, instead offered a spiteful glare from the pinkette; he pushed her away from him and stood to full height. "Get dressed when you've finished. We're all waiting for you."

**.**

**…**

_I stand alone here,  
>watching lovers. And I sing<br>"Oh Hallelujah!"_

**…**

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>And there you have it, everyone.<br>**

**That was chapter two, revised and reposted!  
>Do leave us a review, please?<strong>

**:)**

**-Amaya**


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